Lord Voldemort  His True Self
by Saigon238
Summary: Was he really as evil as everyone thought he was? What really did the Dark Lord think? Why did he do all this? - First HP oneshot on here :  Not the best summary, but R&R please :D


Hey guys :) I feel so lazy for not writing anything for the past few months. The last school term has been hectic (what on EARTH goes on in those teachers' heads?). I mean, seriously, do they plan to put all the assessments/tests/exams all together into the same 2 weeks?

Well, this is my first HP fic, wrote in an hour. Came up with the idea during English class this morning :P Well, read, enjoy and review please :D

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><p>Everybody knows Lord Voldemort. He was the darkest of the dark wizards, bringer of sorrow, murderer of innocents, Master of the Death Eaters. But nobody ever knew his true self.<p>

He wanted the wizarding world to understand the meaning of peace. By focusing all hatred on one person, then obliterating him, thus destroying all hatred and leaving love. Showing the world how easily love and peace could be taken away, and how difficult it could be to regain it. He, as Lord Voldemort, and not as Tom Riddle, would be the one to show the world the true importance of love. Dumbledore accused him of not understanding love, but who was he to judge? Dumbledore and he were not so dissimilar. As a young wizard, Dumbledore had dabbled in Dark magic himself, only wanting to bring out the 'greater good'. What was so different?

He built his Dark army over the years, accumulating all things that caused hatred in the world. He knew that eventually the darkness would fall, through a person born on the end of July, a person named Harry Potter. He had planned his own downfall all this time, orchestrating everything that would happen.

When he left for the Potter's house on that fateful night, he had prepared not to kill the boy, but to leave part of his own soul with him. From what he had heard from Severus, he had carefully planned his entire 'attack' out, first killing James Potter, then telling Lily to step aside, which she would refuse, then killing her, which would place the protective charm on Harry Potter. When he turned his wand on the child, he was fully prepared to endure the pain of creating another Horcrux.

"We will meet again," he hoarsely whispered, "Harry Potter."

A flash of green light, a long drawn-out scream, and he was no more.

While residing in Albania, biding his time, Voldemort, in his semi-human state, pondered about his next steps. A young man named Quirinius Quirrell would be passing through the forest in a few days, according to his network of snakes. He was going to become the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. Voldemort was intrigued about this young fellow. Why not use him to update on Harry Potter, and gain the Philosopher's Stone for his resurrection? And so he returned to Hogwarts, his first true home, in the body of Professor Quirrell. Harry Potter was very much what he thought he would be, mediocre at most subjects, an excellent flier, no doubt inherited from his father, and a true Gryffindor, brave and loyal. Jinxing his broomstick during that Quidditch match was only to focus all suspicion on Severus Snape. That would leave his path to the Philosopher's Stone clear and unblocked.

Their first confrontation on the third floor was quite the experience. Wrenched away from a physical body again, burning with the pain from Lily's protective charm, he escaped again to Albania, waiting for his servant to return. He had sensed his presence in Hogwarts, as the rat in the possession of a boy named Ronald Weasley. Even from his Hogwarts days, all the Weasleys looked the same, red hair and freckles; it was very difficult not to recognize one.

Year after year, Voldemort kept tabs on Harry Potter. The boy was growing to become extremely popular for his escapades in the Chamber of Secrets. He was in his fourth year now, preparing for the final challenge in the Triwizard Tournament. Another one of his loyal servants, Barty Crouch Jr., was preparing to transport the boy to his father's graveyard, where he, in his grotesque child-like state, would be resurrected using Harry Potter's blood. Finally, he would see the outcomes of his actions, sowing seeds of hatred in young Potter's heart, teaching him to hate Voldemort, hate the darkness, preparing him for the final confrontation which he fully intended to lose.

On the night of his resurrection, he emerged, fully "human" once more, to see Harry Potter. Those glittering green eyes, so filled with fear, panic, and most of all, hate. Voldemort smiled to himself, a twisted grin. To those who saw only his appearance would see that smile as a celebratory one, but only Voldemort would know that it was one of happiness. Yes, everything was going according to plan.

That night, they had their first duel. Him, as an adolescent wizard, and Voldemort, as the Dark Lord. Harry Potter's first test against Lord Voldemort, with dozens of Death Eaters there to watch. And a test it was, not to kill, but to gauge the boy's abilities. According to his servant, Potter was more than capable of all the Defence Against the Dark Arts skills of his age group, possibly even higher. He spoke the Killing Curse with no conviction, no force of will. It would have done no more damage than a mild headache. But the Potter boy was convinced otherwise. Lord Voldemort was out to kill him, and he would not allow it. The Disarming Spell Harry cast was unlike any other Voldemort had seen. The fear in those almond eyes had disappeared, replaced by grim determination. The force behind the spell was phenomenal, and Voldemort had to step up the Killing Curse a small bit.

As a golden light enveloped the two duellers, smoky figures blossomed from Voldemort's wand. _Priori Incantatem_. Whispering words of encouragement to the boy, and hissing insults to him. If only they knew what his true intentions were.

Thus began the Second Wizarding War.

Another year passed. They met again at the Ministry of Magic, searching for the prophecy that detailed Lord Voldemort's downfall. _How ironic_, he had thought, _that even fate lies at my feet_. For it was he, not fate, who had planned all this from the start. The prophecy merely helped him choose who would become the Boy who Lived. No, Harry Potter was not important. As far as he was concerned, the Potter boy was only a pawn of his, never truly the one who would bring about his defeat. He was only part of a carefully planned and meticulously executed strategy. But there was a small mistake in that plan. His plan was to plant false images of Sirius Black at the Department of Mysteries. He had not calculated that Sirius Black and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix would have actually rushed to their aid. He had not calculated that Bellatrix Lestrange, his best lieutenant, would have killed her own cousin. He had not calculated that he might have really had to kill the boy in order to maintain his façade of coldness and evil. But thankfully, before he really had to erase everything that he had so carefully orchestrated, Dumbledore came to the rescue. Ironic, isn't it, that Dumbledore, the only professor that didn't believe in him during his school days, would have saved him from complete failure?

And so they duelled. The two greatest wizards of all time, Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was a key part in his plan, the figure who would educate Harry on the importance of destroying Voldemort. He did not intend to kill him, perhaps only injure him heavily and Disapparate. Enough to show Harry what evil was truly capable of, and extend his hatred for the darkness.

Then the Aurors and Minister had to appear, giving Voldemort the perfect excuse to escape from battle. Had they not arrived at precisely that moment, Voldemort would have had to continue duelling, creating openings from which one of the Order of the Phoenix members or Hogwarts students could have injured him. Eventually, he would have overpowered Dumbledore, or vice versa, and his entire plan would fall to ruins.

Infiltrating and taking over the Ministry of Magic had been the final preparation for the last stage. Sowing the last seeds of hatred in the hearts of the wizarding community, Voldemort ensured that all hatred was directed on his existence. Breaking up families, instilling fear into all that heard his name, taking away what was most dear to them.

And yet his plan could not be fulfilled just yet. His wand and the Potter boy's wand were brothers. Given their magical properties by the same phoenix, they would not fight against each other. Thus he acquired another wand. Lucius Malfoy's wand. But that didn't work either. He came to one final conclusion. The Elder Wand. The most powerful wand to have ever existed on earth. Surely the Elder Wand would not defy him?

He travelled to Hogwarts in the dead of night. Finally finding what he came to seek, he came to stop upon Dumbledore's tomb of marble. Hogwarts's silhouette, imposing and threatening, cast a shadow upon the grave. Cracking open Dumbledore's tombstone, he looked down upon the weathered and ancient face, silver beard and half-moon spectacles perched upon his nose. Clasped in his withered and gnarly fingers was the Elder Wand.

Voldemort pried the wand away from Dumbledore' iron grip. Looking down at the body of his professor of old, he whispered his final farewells to Dumbledore, hoping he would understand what he was doing. Turning his back on Hogwarts, the first place that he ever felt he truly belonged, he flew into the night.

Tonight was the Battle of Hogwarts. The final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort, between light and dark. Voldemort was waiting in the Forbidden Forest, waiting for Harry Potter to give himself up. It was time to destroy that small piece of soul that had latched onto the boy, and fully free himself to be killed. Nagini slithered and twisted inside her shining orb-like cage. She was the only constant companion by his side, the one that he always conversed to. She was the only one who ever knew his true intentions, his true thoughts. He almost felt slightly disheartened by the fact that she would have to die in the very near future, in order for his plan to proceed.

It was near midnight. Potter still had not shown up. Voldemort was growing increasingly impatient. Everything after this point in time was planned out counting on Potter being killed. Voldemort gripped his wand tightly, although his face showed no emotion.

When the boy materialized out of the dark forest, Voldemort was relieved. Again, his plans had nearly been botched by unexpected circumstances. Potter was holding no wand. He was not going to fight back. Voldemort held back a smile. Apparently Dumbledore had left some message telling the boy that in order to kill Voldemort, he was going to have to give himself up willingly. He raised the Elder Wand up to Harry's face, and recited the words of the Killing Curse.

_Avada Kedavra_.

To all that was watching, the boy was dead. To all, but Narcissa Malfoy and Voldemort. He did not need a wand or physical stimuli to perform Legilimency. He could sense Potter's consciousness flickering, no doubt wondering why he was not dead and listening to all that was going on in that clearing.

A few moments later, his Dark army had officially begun the attack on Hogwarts. He hated seeing all the people dead around him, leaving behind children, spouses, dreams. Duelling Minerva McGonagall, the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and Horace Slughorn, his professor of old, he resented having to injure such powerful and noble people, but to keep up his mask of evil, he had no choice but to do so. They were fully intent on killing him, and he had to stop them from killing him until Harry Potter arrived as the hero who would save the world. He cursed, jinxed and hexed them, purposefully missing them with Killing Curses.

Looking around him, he saw Bellatrix Lestrange, his best, most faithful Death Eater, fall to the ground, dead. He let out a cry of anguish and pain, not because he had lost his best lieutenant, but because he had no choice but to. During his darkest reign, the name of Lestrange was whispered with fear. They had been the most ruthless, most unmerciful Death Eaters who obeyed and worshipped the Dark Lord like he was the reason they all lived. They were the most loyal followers he ever had. Privy to all the inner workings of the Death Eaters, they were the ones Voldemort turned to at the first opportunity. He trusted them, although it may not have seemed so, to complete their assignments without fail or question. But their allegiance stemmed from their love for bloodshed and destruction, which Voldemort abhorred. Of course, he had to kill many people to obtain his goals, but he had no liking for it. The Lestranges, on the other hand, seemed to live for murder and torture. Voldemort disliked their way of working, but their years of service and assistance had been a key part in his plan, and he respected them for that.

When Harry Potter and Voldemort circled each other, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, exchanging taunts, Voldemort had a brief reminiscence of his life. He had devoted his life to planning this moment in time that would go down in wizarding history forever. His name would forever be known as the darkest blotch in the pages of history. After this moment, all would be over, peace would come, and the world would rise anew. Away from the frightening reality of war, away from bloodshed, away from hatred. This would be a world of peace, a world of love. No longer would there be the need for families to be ripped apart, lives destroyed. And he, Lord Voldemort, would be the one to bring about this change.

Their spells met in a brilliant flash of golden light, just like the one across the horizon. His wand spun from his hand, cartwheeling through the air. The Elder Wand had recognized its true master, the one that it would not harm. He heard the rush of speeding death, saw his life flash before his eyes; the orphanage, finding his powers, going to Hogwarts, working at Borgin and Burkes, creating Horcruxes, building his Dark army, everything that had happened up until this moment.

He allowed himself a small smile, a true smile, not twisted by darkness. He looked through the light into the sunrise, and allowed the rebounded curse to consume his body.

The night was over. A new day had dawned. His role was finished. Now it is yours, the Chosen One, Harry Potter.

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><p>Well, not too bad for a first-time HP fic eh? Review please :D<p> 


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